


Respite

by mistyzeo



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Community: spn_30snapshots, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-17
Updated: 2010-09-17
Packaged: 2017-10-11 22:18:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/117707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mistyzeo/pseuds/mistyzeo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam does laundry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Respite

Sam liked doing laundry. It had always made him calm, meditative. When it was him and Dean and Dad on the road all the time, he'd volunteer to do laundry for the three of them while Dean and Dad interviewed people or went to a bar or killed something minor. He'd sit in the laundromat and watch the clothes tumble and smell the detergent and the dryer sheets, and he was happy.

At Stanford, he'd discovered that he'd have to carve out a whole two hours to do laundry, because he couldn't multitask. He'd put the clothes in and then just end up sitting there, watching the minutes count down, thinking about nothing and everything.

He'd met Jess doing laundry. They'd loaded washers side by side, smiling politely, and then when she came back because she'd left her quarters, she'd found him still sitting by the washer, the most peaceful look on his face. She'd stayed to talk, and they'd moved things to the dryer together. She asked him if he wanted to come get coffee with her while the dryers ran, and he'd awkwardly turned her down, so she left without him, smiling indulgently.

She'd come back in ten minutes with coffee for both of them.

Now he sat in an uncomfortable plastic chair at three in the morning in a laundromat in Indiana, mind blank. The lights were too bright and the only dryers working were the ones with his and Dean's clothes. He liked that it was empty. No screaming kids, no one to dump his shit on the floor because they wanted a washer. He thought about Jess, about meeting her in the basement of East Florence Moore, about the way she'd looked all flushed and mischievous when she came back with a latte for him.

Then Dean came in the door at the front of the laundromat, and Sam looked up, reverie broken.

"Hey," Dean said. "What's up?"

"Uh, nothing," Sam replied. "Doing laundry."

"I know that," Dean said, coming over to sit next to him. His leather jacket against Sam's arm was chilly from the cold outside, and Sam shifted away, rubbing warmth back into himself. "Sorry." Dean took off the coat and put it on the other side of him. He slid an arm casually over the back of Sam's chair and his fingers brushed Sam's shoulder.

"You?"

"Hm?" Dean looked distracted. "Oh. Nothing. It's cold out. Diner was closed, so, no coffee."

And like that, they sat together in silence again. Sam watched the laundry tumble, and Dean found a half-finished crossword in an old magazine, and even though they had to be in Hibbing, Minnesota as soon as possible, and Dean had barely acquiesced to Sam's request to stop _just to do laundry,_ Sam was content. Dean was warm against his side, and the smell of Tide detergent was strong in the air, and he could just sit still and think, not going anywhere at all.

**Author's Note:**

> written for the [spn_30snapshots](http://spn_30snapshots.livejournal.com) challenge; my table is [here](http://mistyzeo.livejournal.com/5726.html)


End file.
